Rev. A. Constable Geikie, a Scot by birth and, as a child, an immigrant to Canada before Canada was a country, grew up to be a Presbyterian minister. A man of words, of religion and opinions and of things that, to his flock at St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church in Berlin, Ontario (present day Kitchener), needed to be said.

But the preacher had other audiences. On March 28, 1857, he gave a reading at the Canadian Institute based on a paper he had published in the Canadian Journal of Industry, Science, and Art, on an emerging scourge he perceived as an abomination: “Canadian English.”

In England, beef is hung, gates are hung, and curtains are hung, but felons are hanged; in Canada, felons, beef, gates, and curtains, are all treated in the same way

“In England, beef is hung, gates are hung, and curtains are hung, but felons are hanged; in Canada, felons, beef, gates, and curtains, are all treated in the same way,” the reverend said. “In Canada, such a garment as trowsers [sic] is unknown. What do we wear? Pantaloons is the reply; or more familiarly pants…

“These and a thousand other examples which might be produced, fully justify the use of the term “Canadian English,” as expressive of a corrupt dialect growing up amongst our population.”

Reverend Geikie praised British English as the “noble mother tongue.” The inference being that our ancestors, the Anglo-Scots-Welsh-Irish-United-Empire-Loyalist English speaking rubes about town, were a bunch of linguistic barbarians out butchering Queen Victoria’s own English.

University of Toronto

But then how did this mishmash of English speakers, speaking their English back in the days of yore, with all its peculiarities, geographical differences, regional dialects, expressions and accents, morph into an English that was identifiably Canadian? And what, exactly, is identifiable about Canadian English and, if language is alive and evolving, where are we headed to next?

Upset as Reverend Geikie was about how people were speaking, he needed to chill out. Until the early 1900s English-speaking Canadians were, as a generalization, Anglophiles. Grasping their teacups, portraits of the Queen and, quite often, their British accents, as cultural identifiers and status symbols. We wanted to sound British, which is one reason we don’t sound American, which isn’t to say we don’t owe our American friends a huge language debt.

About 40,000 United Empire Loyalists — aka Americans on the run — fled to Canada after the American Revolution. It was a watershed moment.

“It established the future character of Canadian English as a cousin of American English, fundamentally North American rather than British in character,” says Charles Boberg, a linguist at McGill University. “Yet it also set up an ideological spirit of independence from American values that would be receptive to future influence from Britain, still seen as the motherland by most 19th-century Canadians.”

One simple, often lampooned and yet valid test for distinguishing a Canadian English speaker from an American, according to professor Sali Tagliamonte, a University of Toronto linguist, is how Canadians say, about. The word rings in American ears as, “aboot.” Other telltale tip-offs: ask an American where to find the washroom, how often they clean their eavestroughs or what a double-double is, and await their bewildered look.

Language, like life, is all about the survival of the fittest. Those early Canadian settlers stewed together in town squares, one-room schoolhouses and church pews. They talked. They wanted to be understood. So common expressions and speech patterns were commonly used. Linguistic quirks and dialects died away. The strong survived.

We don’t all speak the same language, all the time: Does anybody outside of Saskatchewan know what a bunny hug is? But for the most part the Canadian on the phone in Ottawa sounds like the Canadian in Calgary, and Vancouver. (Linguistic redoubts — Newfoundland — persist, proudly, as exceptions).

Easily the most depressing thing Prof. Tagliamonte had to say to me — a 40ish, hockey-loving, beer-drinking hoser — about Canadian English was that “eh,” that great marker of Canadian speech, is on its way out. Kids today use “right” in “eh’s” rightful place.

“We might see the end of eh,” the professor says.

Tyler Anderson/National Post

Andrew Hinkle is a veteran Canadian accent and voice instructor in Toronto. His job, which pays him $75 an hour, involves teaching English-speaking immigrant professionals to communicate more effectively with Canadians.

“It is often a matter of rhythm,” he says. “Canadians speak from here [pointing from his chest to the top of his neck].”

What has surprised him most in his work is that some immigrants want to retain their accents. Often the guy from China, or France, or India, doesn’t want to sound like the guy from Calgary.

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